Xaxus 1st
by Unknown Author of Dark
Summary: This is my first uploaded piece.Please review this with honesty, any constructive criticism will help. This story follows the Xaxus 1st regiment, in its campaign on a Chaos held world. The third chapter is posted. Sorry for the wait the holidays were busy
1. Chapter 1

In a bleak gray dawn, figures could be seen moving through ruined buildings and streets. Like ghosts, they slipped in and out bombed out buildings and bullet ridden facades, though ghosts they were not. Their gray and black urban camouflage mixed well with the landscape. Rain began to trickle down from the sky, and the group came to a halt in a relatively intact building. There, they waited.

Another miserable day, in a miserable war he thought. Outside, the rain fell in sheets, as was common on this world. He stood on the second floor of the building, looking out a window at the street below, searching for any signs of movement. His lasgun stood against the wall, propped on the window sill. He was Cohr, a trooper in the Imperial Guard, from the newly founded regiments of Xaxus, a rim world in the Segmentum Obscurus. Immediately they set out to reclaim worlds in the name of the glorious Emperor. Chaos fleets had invaded the system, and many planets had succumbed, this planet being one of them. He was of the Xaxus 1st, which was now currently stationed on Fordia. They had been on this rock for half a year now, and they were at a standstill with enemy forces in the area. His squad had been selected for recon duty today. They were to search for a weakness in the enemy lines that they could exploit. The months of city fighting were decimating their numbers, along with their fellow Xaxian regiments. It was hopeless really, because there was no real defined line, and what the enemy controlled was heavily defended, both by invading forces, and cults and zealots of the Chaos cause. He took out a ration bar and began to chew on it, and returned to his observations. Down the street he could see a blown out Ecclesiarch temple. The rest of the street was made up of ruined habs and other unidentifiable buildings. There was way too much cover. It would be easy for the enemy to sneak up on them. Just as he thought this, he caught sight of something. He slowly reached for his lasgun, and activated his micro-bead. "Contact." he whispered.

A few other members of the squad came upstairs and took positions up along the windows. The rest were downstairs, covering the ground floor. He had pinned himself up against the wall, keeping hidden. He muttered a prayer under his breath as he prepared himself for the coming battle. Hopefully though, they would pass by, not noticing a thing.

Konrad, the squad sergeant moved over to him, He crouched down next to him and motioned for him to do the same. "Did you get a look at numbers?" he asked.  
"I only caught a glimpse of them, but I saw them on our side of the street, moving through the habs." Cohr replied. He stood up and went to the window. He indicated the area where he spotted the hostiles. Looking again, he made out more movement down the street. Konrad relayed the enemy position to the squad, and he settled against the wall. "Firing discipline men, only take a shot if it's clear. Let them get close, then, kill them.

They were close now, only about twenty meters away. It was a large enemy patrol, about platoon size. More movement had been seen on the other side of the street, and now an enemy squad was out in the open, moving down the middle street, weaving between sandbags and wrecked vehicles. From this far away Cohr couldn't get a good look at them, but these weren't the soldiers of the archenemy, they were cultists. For cultists, they were heavily outfitted. The dark forces wasted no time in employing the manufactories on the planet, giving their followers weapons and equipment that was akin to the Imperial Guard. Each trooper worn a long overcoat, and from combat reports they wore a mesh armor of metal plates and flak armor. Each one carried a lasrifle too. One of the enemy troops in the middle squad carried a flamer too. He was the top target. If he got close to the building… Cohr shuddered at the though of burning to death. He sighted down his lasgun at the flamer and got ready to fire.

Next to him, against the wall, was his friend Grigorius. They had both been enlisted together, and they had forged a friendship early on. He was pale skinned, like most Xaxian, and he was lanky. He had dark brown eyes and a young face, hardened by war. "These bastards make me sick, defiling the world like this. I want to personally find their leader and put my gun to his head." Grigorius spat on the ground and he sighted down his rifle, choosing his target. Cohr was still tracking the flame trooper. He had him clear in his sights, it was now or never. He pulled the trigger and a bright red beam issued from his rifle. The snap crack of the lasgun was loud in the enclosed room. Even after months of fighting, this was the first time he had shot at a visible enemy, and he considered it his first kill. The bolt was dead on, and the cultist tumbled to the floor. He switched his aim over to the next and fire again dropping a second one. All around him the wall opened up, and the squad in the road was slaughtered. Grigorius gave a triumphant shout. "I got one, I got one, I actually…" but he was cut off as a bolt scorched by him, forcing him into cover. The enemy had begun to fire back, their bolts burning the wall, and occasionally punching through. Cohr fired a quick burst of lasfire, forcing the advancing squad on their side of the street to dive for cover. "Shit, they're trying to flank us!" someone screamed as a hail of fire from across the street caused him to duck down. A few members of the squad began to pour fire across the street, into a ruined hab. Cohr could make out shapes in a window, but he couldn't get a clear shot. He changed his aim to the squad on their street side. They had much less cover, just a few ruined walls and craters. He heard someone scream, so he chanced a look to see who. One of his squad mates was thrashing on the floor. His chest was a mess of burnt tissue and blood. He fell silent, but Cohr couldn't help but stare. The boom of thunder woke him out of his reverie. It was followed by another and another. Confused, he poked his head out of cover to see that the cultists were lobbing stick bombs at the walls. One of the walls below blew inwards, shaking the whole building. The hail of grenades stopped and suppressive fire lanced out from the ground level, forcing them back into cover. Cohr took pot shots out the window, trying to return fire. He could hear a screaming over the roar of weapons fire. He looked out the window and he saw a cultist running forward, a belt of grenades in each hand. He screamed the name of his dark gods as he ran forward. Frantically, Cohr tried to get a shot. He fired, but the shot went wide, scorching the ground. He readjusted his aim and fired true. The cultist kept running though. He switched to auto and let out a burst of lasfire. With a dying effort the cultist pulled the pins on each of the belts.

Before he could shout a warning, the explosion ripped through the surrounding area, obliterating most of the wall and killing the remaining members of the zealot squad. The explosion knocked him flat on his back, but others weren't so lucky. Two others were caught by the blast, their bodies mangled beyond recognition. He got up and heard a bellow from the outside. The remaining cultists charged forward rushing to the breaches in the building. Cohr scrabbled to his feet. He could see Grigorius lying on the floor, motionless. Cohr ran over and knelt down beside him. Thankfully he was still alive, just stunned from the explosion. Cohr helped him to his feet. "Come on, we gotta get downstairs to help out the squad!" he shouted. Cohr pulled his knife from its sheath and he fixed it to the lugs. "You should do the same." he remarked. Together, they ran downstairs, to a seen of carnage.

The downstairs was a mess. Rubble covered the floor and a massive hole stretched where the wall used to be. The zealots rushed in, laying into the dazed guardsmen. He saw Listec go down, sporting a new mouth along his throat. Konrad was shouting, trying to rally the squad against the attackers. A spray of blood hit Cohr as a soldier near him was slashed by an enemy blade. The cultist turned his attention to Cohr, and he finally got a good look at one. The traitor wore a heavy rebreather mask, the snout and eyes making him look like a monster. He wore a helmet, covered in odd designs and runes that made the eyes hurt to look at. The mesh armor was covered in a similar manner. Running at him screaming blasphemous oaths, the cultist charged. "For the Emperor" screamed Cohr, meeting him head on. Cohr jabbed in with his bayonet and caught the cultist right in a chink of his mesh armor. He put all his might being the thrust and pushed the bastard to the ground. The cultist writhed on the end of his bayonet, screaming. He pulled the trigger, ending the traitor's lamentations. He turned around looking for more things to kill. Grigorius was locked in his own battle, trading blows with a Chaos warrior. Konrad spared with two opponents. One took a swing at Konrad, but he ducked under. He grabbed the man's arm, holding the weapon in place. He stabbed in under the armpit, straight into his heart. With a squeal the cultist fell back dead. Konrad threw his elbow back and smashed the visor of the other one. He pulled out his laspistol and silenced him with a shot to the head. Three more ran into the room, raising their weapons. His gun still on full auto, Cohr ran forward blazing away. Lasbolts ripped across the room and dropped two of the cultists into a heap. The last one reacted in time and managed to get out of the way of the barrage, but Cohr barreled into him anyway. They struggled around on the ground trying to use their weapons. The trooper head butted him and he slumped to the ground, dazed. The Chaos trooper pulled out an autopistol and put it to his head. "Where is your False Emperor now swine?"

Cohr closed his eyes, awaiting oblivion, but it never came. The cultist still stood their, his pistol pointed at Cohr's head, but nothing was happening. That's when he noticed the blade protruding from the man's back. The man toppled over, Grigorius standing behind him. Cohr, beginning to get light headed finally let out his breath. He felt his heart hammering inside his chest, the fear that had gripped him slowly ebbing away. He looked around and took in the scene. Bodies from both sides littered the floor. Blood ran as rainwater fell into the house, washing away the pooling fluid. Only he, Grigorius and Konrad remained out of the ten man squad. Eventually, they moved, the rush of combat and adrenaline ebbing away. "More patrols will be here once this one doesn't check in. It would be best to vacate the area quickly." Konrad said. "Agreed." said both Cohr and Grigorius in unison. Cohr swapped out his power pack and Grigorius did the same. They rested for a few more minutes, and then they set out into the storm.


	2. Chapter 2

It was hard to imagine that was only a day ago for Cohr, all those men, he had known them for a long while, and then they were suddenly quite dead. It was dreadful and morbid, leaving a hollow feeling inside him, the realization that he could easily be the next dead was all too apparent. He tried to push the broodings aside. Fresh soldiers were coming up from the reserves in orbit to replenish weakened squads. Apparently, they weren't the only ones who had taken heavy casualties these past few days. All across the city, similar reports came in of enemy units moving through the city. The Chaos bastards were up to something, that much was certain. He lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling of his company's billet. They had cleaned out a bunch of unused storage sheds, located on the western side of the city. He was feeling restless, unable to push his dark thoughts from his mind. He wasn't even tired. He got of his bunk and began walking towards the nearest exit. "Where ya going?" Grigorius called out after him.  
"Just for some air." replied Cohr. As he walked outside, he was greeted by a cold night breeze. The nights on Fordia were fairly cold, but it didn't bother him, he liked the cold. He could see the glow of chemical burners against the night, sentries gathering around them. Nearby a group of soldiers loitered by a shack, smoking lho-sticks. A fighter swooshed overhead, probably off to a bombing run. He waved at the passing plane, a futile, but somehow meaningful gesture. He stood there, taking in the night's sounds, the sound of laughing men and boys, the crackle and sizzle of the chemical burners. Fighting could be heard in the distance. It was probably towards the center of the hive. The fighting was the thickest there, the lines of Chaos and the Imperials just meters apart. He could here the snap crack of lasrifles from soldiers down at the range and the buzzing of a nearby vox caster. These were the sounds of the Hive Haman. It was the cities pulse, its heartbeat, always constant. Occasionally, it died down, a reminder that this was a dead place, being fought over by the living. He slowly walked back to his billet, feeling tired after all.

He woke around 0400 for sentry duty. He sat up slowly and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He looked around the room, observing all the sleeping forms, they slow rise and fall of sheets, the occasional whimper, he even heard someone sobbing. He pulled on his boots and put on his flak jacket. He picked up his helmet and set it on top of his head. He grabbed his lasrifle off the rack near his bunk. He was taking no chances. He didn't want to be caught unprepared by a raid. He saw a few others shuffling about, either returning from sentry duty or about to go out. Exiting the billet, he hurriedly jogged through the camp to his post. The air was just as cold, if not colder than it had been before. The sky was clear and he could see the two moons hanging above the planet, large sickly yellow orbs. Stars dotted the dark sky.

He finally reached his post, on the east side of the camp, facing towards the inner city. His post was located in a wrecked hab. He entered the small building, and the few inside looked up. A few called out greetings, but most ignored him and went back to work. A small table was set up in the middle of the room, and a vox caster sat on top of it. A sergeant sat their, fiddling with the dials and switches. He cursed at the thing and smacked it. "Blasted thing won't work at all." he muttered. Cohr walked past the cursing man and took up a post near a hole in the wall. He looked out across the night landscape. The buildings were just shadows against the darkness of the night, easily concealing enemy troops or snipers. On a nearby rack, a pair of magnocualrs hung. He grabbed it and put the lenses up to his eyes. He flicked on the night vision and the world turned green. He scanned around the buildings, looking for anything unusual, but spotted nothing.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, and by the time he was relieved, it was early morning. He trudged back through the base. He made his way to the mess hall, located in the center of the camp. He pushed his way through the double doors into the main area. The place was bustling with troops and it was loud with laughter and talking. Cohr grabbed a tray and stepped into queue. The line moved forward relatively and soon he found himself walking away with a tray full of gross, gray gruel. He walked over to the water machines, where he filled up his canteen with fresh water, although he was certain he couldn't call the water fresh, or for the matter, clean. But it was better than what was found in the city. He scanned the building, looking for anyone he knew. Then he remembered that most of the people he knew were dead.

Eventually he found a seat with his remaining squad mates, Grigorius and Konrad. A somber mood filled their table, and no conversation took place. Konrad finished and got up, muttering a goodbye. Trying to strike up a conversation, Grigorius said "Hey, I here fresh soldiers are coming in today."

"Yea I heard that too." replied Cohr. With that they both fell silent again.

Around 1300, the new soldiers arrived, did, in fact arrive. In the sky, a troop lander could be seen, sweeping in from the sky. Soon the roar of its thrusters drowned out everything as it passed overhead. Cohr and Grigorius hurried to the landing field, where the ship was setting down. A large crowd of curious onlookers gathered around the field. The ship cut its engines and slammed to the ground. The ship sat there, like some great immobile beast, dormant. Then the shutters opened and soldiers poured out. They quickly fell into a formation on the field, forming only one company. An officer moved out of ranks and took his place in front of them. Some of the crowd looked confused. A company, that wouldn't even come close to covering their loses. Out of the crowd of onlookers strode out their commander, Colonel Imeron, the illustrious leader of their regiment. No one liked him. He was a pompous bastard, who commanded from behind, and threw them into the meat grinder. It was his fault they were losing in this sector. The other man saluted as he walked up, and Imeron returned the salute. They began to converse with each other. This went on for a few minutes, and then Imeron did an about face and walked away, his face burning a bright read. He didn't even wait for the soldiers in the crowd to get out of his way, he just pushed them. The other officer did an about face, and addressed his men. "You are all to fall out, and report to the command section of the camp, were you will be assigned to your new squads." The officer fell silent for a moment, and then shouted "Dismissed!" The company fell out and began to shuffle about, not really sure where to go. With that, the crowd dispersed.


	3. Chapter 3

The camp bustled with activity as the new soldiers ran about the area, looking for their units. Cohr, Grigorius and Konrad sat in the center of it all, waiting for the reinforcements or "newbies" as everyone had taken to calling them for the few hours they had been here. They had been waiting for a good hour, without anyone new showing up, meanwhile, all the other squads filled up. "I wonder if we're even gonna get replacements." said Konrad bitterly. He had been different as of late, the deaths of his squad mates and friends hanging heavily over them. Out of the crowd, a group of about eight or seven approached them. One of them Cohr noted, was a commissar, his distinct cap and sash making him stand out. The commissar had a narrow, shrewd looking face. He had a long pointed nose, and solid black eyes, a career man, a by the books officer from the looks of it. But something was off about him. Even though he looked the part well, his face betrayed his inexperience. He wasn't hardened, like some of the commissars he had met, who would execute one for something pointless. He had the chance to become a truly good officer. The commissar approached Konrad and addressed him. "Are you Sergeant Konrad of First Battalion, First Company?" Konrad stood up from the table he was sitting at and snapped to attention, replying with a salute. "Yes sir, I am Sergeant Konrad, and this is the remainder of my squad sir."

"Very good. All right, I want you three to show your new squad mates where their bunks are and help them get settled in. I am attached to your squad as well and I will be along shortly. Any questions?"

"No sir."

Konrad dropped his salute, and the commissar walked away. "Well you heard the man, let's move."

A few hours later, the new squad was settled in. The commissar still hadn't shown up, and the other soldiers seemed restless. It was probably because they were new. It was always because they were new. Cohr sat on his cot, leaning against the wall, scanning the room, taking in all the new faces. Most of them were young, younger than him anyway. It wouldn't make much difference; they would all die the same.

The newbies were mixing well with the squad even though some tension was still apparent. One of them had decided to come over and talk to Cohr. His name was Tarel, or Taren or something along those lines. Like the rest, he was young. Anyway, he was asking about what to expect out in the field. "Your Tarel right?" asked Cohr.

"Taren." corrected the trooper.

"Nothing more than you've already been told. Insane cultists, merciless soldiers and bloodthirsty daemon, the usual." Cohr chuckled at his own dark response.

"I know that, the commissars drilled that into our heads already. I really mean, whats it likes in the field, you know?" Taren struggled to try and get his meaning across but he seemed at a loss. Cohr sat for a moment and then replied. "I understand what you're trying to ask, hell, it's even good that you are. Battle isn't glorious like you hear from the morale officers. Its hell, mayhem, massacre, is what it truly is. It's good that you realize that, you'll stay alive longer. Really, you spend most of your time cowering in a ditch, praying to the Emperor an artillery shell doesn't find you, or trying to avoid being shot to bits. Occasionally, the situation will call for the heroics the commissars try to teach, but most of the time, that shit'll make you dead fast enough." With that he finished, even though he didn't believe all of it. He had seen some crazy things happen, even in his very short time as a solider. He remembered once when he saw a wounded guardsman, lying on the ground. His squad was pinned done by a heavy bolter. He remembered it vividly. Before he could do anything, Emperor rest his soul, Listec had jumped out of cover and grabbed the wounded man, dragging him back to safety. It was a miracle that he hadn't been killed. He hadn't even been shot.

Screams and shrieks woke him from his slumber. A series of explosions went off, each rattling the building. All around him, men were panicking and scampering about. Officers were shouting, trying to get the men under control. Another shriek, and then a boom from nearby. Cohr jumped off his bunk and got ready as fast as he could. Some of the others took his idea and began to put on their , Cohr heard the shriek of incoming artillery, but before he could react, the shell detonated right next to the building. The ground shook with the impact, and a few fell over. Finished, Cohr began to search the room for anyone he knew. He found Konrad, seeing him standing on top of a nearby bunk, shouting orders at the men bellow him. Cohr ran over to him and noticed that most of the squad was there. He didn't know all of their names yet, but he at least recognized Taren. There were a few others he knew by name but they escaped him for the moment. He recognized another however. Laos it was. He was a big, heavy set guy, but he wasn't fat, just big. The other main difference was that he was older than the new recruits, at least thirty standard. He was the squad's new heavy weapon specialist. He cradled a new autocannon, supported by the rig he had attached to his body. His loader was scrawny compared to him, and the boy (he laughed inwardly as he called the loader "boy") had tattoos on his face. Cohr didn't bother to try and discern a pattern, they seemed random. He had a narrow, cruel looking face, and his eyes darted around with anticipation. As for the rest, they were unknown to him.

They rest of the squad formed up, and they vacated the warehouse immediately. Outside, the base was rampant with activity. Soldiers scurried about, manning emplacements and taking up defensive positions. Off a little ways the night flashed indicators of where the main battle was taking place. They squad ran through the camp, following Konrad's lead. A shriek from over head was the only warning they got. "Scatter!" someone screamed, and they all dived for cover. The shell landed close to them, throwing up mud and debris, and creating a small crater in the ground. They reformed and began to advance again, keeping their eyes on the sky.

The camp was in complete disarray, taken by surprise, the Chaos forces wasted no time in getting in close. Brutal street battles raged all around them and lasfire whipped out windows and buildings. The occasional mortar shell dropped, but the numbers had lessened. The enemy commanders didn't seem to want to blow their own troops up as well. Cohr was still wondering how in the hell the enemy guns had reached them in the first place. The main enemy encampment was well out of range. At least he thought it was. A lasbolt kissed the wall next to him, barely missing his head. There was a group of cultists down the street, charging towards the squad, howling and shooting. Cohr dropped to his belly and began firing down the street. The rest of the squad returned fire, and the loud barking of the autocannon drowned out some of the other noise. The heavy rounds punched holes in the groups of cultists and their advance halted. The zealots scrambled for cover as the cannon chewed threw their ranks. The remaining cultists fled, but were cut down from behind. The squad continued its advance, stepping over the bloody remains of the enemy. They checked to make sure all of the zealots were dead and then proceeded onwards.

All along the eastern edge of the camp the battle raged. The whine of lasguns filled the air, the boom of heavy weapons blaring around them, the roaring engine of nearby vehicles. So much noise he could barley hear himself think. They reached a nearby building and took up positions alongside other squads, firing out into the darkness at the enemy. Even though it was night, the place blazed with light from fires, explosions and weapons fire. Across the street they could make out an enemy position. Gunfire flashed from its window, and the loud bark of a heavy bolter could be heard over the din. The heavy rounds chewed up the ground and tore through thin walls. A soldier near him was pulped by a torrent of shells, another dropped by a headshot. He crouched down behind a sandbag emplacement. Cohr could hear the thud of bullets hitting the bags as the gun raked across the street. Then, the shell fire came to an abrupt halt. The second the fire stopped Imperials exploded out of cover and charged across the road at the enemy emplacement. Even with lasfire whipping all around them, they charged on, howling and braying like bloodthirsty hounds. Acrid smoke filled the air, and he could feel the heat of ionized air as lasbolts flew past him. Then they were on them. They stormed into the buildings, vaulted sandbags, and they set about in brutal hand to hand combat. He was firing on full auto at the dark shapes in the smoke, stabbing out with his bayonet. A cultist came screaming at him. He had a disfigured bulbous face, covered in malignant growths. He ran the disease ridden man through and fired to blow him off his rifle. Nearby a fellow soldier's skull exploded, spattering blood and brains over his comrades. All around him both friend and foe alike were dying. A man ran by, screaming, his face melted away. He saw a group torn to shreds by a grenade. Limbs flew up in the air, and the night was pierced with screams. He saw an enemy soldier get his head bashed in, another eviscerated. He stepped over the dead and dying. Men clutched at their ankles as they walked by. The field had quickly turned into a charnel house. His body was on auto pilot. There was no room to think, only to react. Suddenly he found himself on the ground as a massive explosion ripped out from an overheated plasma gun. He struggled to his feet, only to be hurled by yet another explosion. As he connected with the ground, the last thing he saw was the enemy tank, then everything went black.


End file.
